The smoke
from our chimneys went up in tall columns that lost themselves in the
gray sky. The snow shut us in, and presently the wind lay in wait to
blast us when we dared the drifts.
Yet Miss Caroline throve, despite her nostalgia. She was even jaunty in
her recital of the weather's minor hardships. To its rigors she brought
a front of resolute gayety. A new stove graced the parlor, a stove with
the proud nickeled title of "Frost King"; a title seen to be deserved
when Clem had it properly gorged with dry wood. Within its tropic
radiations Miss Caroline bloomed and was hale of being, like some hardy
perennial.
Of Clem, nothing but hardiness was to be anticipated. He had been
toughened by four other of our winters, all said to have been unusual
for severity. And yet it was Clem, curiously enough, and not Miss
Caroline, who found the season most trying. True, he had to be abroad
most of the time, procuring sustenance for the insatiable "Frost King,"
or performing labor for other people by which Miss Caroline should
preserve her independence; but it was not supposed that a creature of
his sort could be subject to weaknesses natural enough to a superior
race.
I believe this was his own view of the matter; for when he admitted to
me one morning that he had "took cold in the chest," his manner was one
of deprecating confusion, and he swore me against betrayal of his lapse
to Miss Caroline.
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